my heart is stone but still it trembles
by katyfaise
Summary: AU where Enjolras survives the revolt and thinks on those he lost.


**I saw Les Miserables for the third time tonight and I just can't get over this unhealthy obsession with Aaron Tveit and Enjolras. There's slight Enjolras/Eponine but mostly this is just a character piece on Enjolras had he survived the revolt. I just feel like he'd be extremely guilty and it would follow him for the rest of his life. Hope you like it. Also - I am still accepting any prompts or ideas you might have. I'm thinking of doing a little fluff E/E piece with Enjolras being sick (cause he'd be stubborn and whiney) but I'm not sure yet.**

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It had been nearly a week since the barricade had fallen and the revolution had been lost. Friends, no, brothers were lost and he had learned an important lesson.

Nobody came when they called.

The boys, only school boys, had been left alone to die as those who claimed to support the cause turned a blind eye. He should have known, although somewhere in his hardened heart he thought that the support would be there. Instead he had witnessed first hand what happens when the people retract their warm arms of welcome – his brothers were gone.

Enjolras had barely survived and according to the elderly woman who had taken him off the street, his condition had been rather touch and go in the beginning. She talked of the nightmares he would suffer from, causing his body to writhe violently and rip open the stitches that held his wounds together. Luckily Enjolras had managed to calm over the past week but it didn't stop the slew of images that flooded his mind whenever he closed his eyes. The memories he had of Combeferre or even Courfeyrac and the lifeless bodies would haunt him until his death.

The bright blue eyes of Gavroche, sullied with death, were burned into his mind, even during the daylight hours. Enjolras felt guilt – never should he had allowed the child to stay at the barricades but Gavroche wanted to help. He knew he could help and Enjolras never wanted to disappoint him. Instead the young boy had tried to collect gunpowder for the cause and had lost his life.

And Enjolras took all the blame.

Then there was _her_.

Enjolras tried to ignore the brown hair in his mind. The dimples and the stark contrast of her bones against her womanly curves were both easy to rid his thoughts of but the smile – the bright smile that would light up her entire face whenever it made a rare appearance.

While he found himself angry when one of the students in the revolts would allow other things to cloud their judgment, Enjolras had hid his own feelings. He had never truly talked to the girl, not in a way he wished, but as the revolts neared he fought the urge to grow close to her. Enjolras wanted no distractions and no ties to bind him when he could very well die for his cause. Instead he watched as Marius continuously broke the girl's world. Many times he had wanted to intervene – to tell Marius to be kind to the gamin or advise her to find someone else, although he doubted she would listen to him. Although Enjolras did not comfortably know her, he did know that the attitude she held was stubborn and Eponine's feelings toward Marius would never be squashed.

The revolution had forced Enjolras to miss his chance and it was just another regret he would hold.

With his jacket carefully draped over his shoulders, Enjolras navigated the city streets until he reached the outskirts. His arm would heal eventually, but there was still a bullet lodged near his spine that the physicians feared to remove. The pain with each step he took would plague him until he died, even with the use of a cane. Enjolras simply wished that the constant pain was the only reminder of the revolts, instead of the cloudy images in his mind. As he neared the graveyard, the images grew vibrant and Enjolras had to pause to breathe.

He hadn't imagined that paying his respects would be this hard – not with his stone heart.

There were no flowers in his hands – he only wanted a few moments in the presence of the dead, and then he would take his leave. Enjolras was meant to catch a carriage later in the evening to return to the countryside with his parents, at least until he had recovered enough to return to something resembling a normal life. Until that moment though, Enjolras stood amongst the gravesites marked only with crosses that bared initials. His eyes glanced over each wooden cross, memories flooding his mind. Enjolras's fellow students had meant so much to him yet here they lay with nothing more than a crudely crafted marker on a mound of dirt.

Spending too much time in the presence of the dead would send Enjolras to a darker place than where he currently was. Never had he thought that the stone in his heart would break but now Enjolras had experienced death firsthand.

As the stone was slowly chipped away he knew that he could never recover and his lip trembled, a tear escaping from an eye. With a heavy sigh, Enjolras wiped his cheek, brushing the tear aside. He had a carriage to catch, and a life of mourning to begin.


End file.
